


One Happy Memory

by shinysparks



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 05:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinysparks/pseuds/shinysparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius tells Remus about one of his happiest memories. <strike>Werewolf embarrassment</strike> Hilarity ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Happy Memory

**Author's Note:**

> There may be a sequel to this, as my lovely beta, [thymelady](http://thymelady.livejournal.com), is wanting to hear Remus's reply now. :D Written for hh_sugarquill's challenge #128: the night before the morning after (44 points for Slytherin! WOOT!)

There was a memory, my dear Moony, that I kept buried deep inside throughout all those I spent trapped away in Azkaban. One precious memory that I couldn't let the dementors steal from me no matter what. I gave them the happiest parts of my childhood (which unfortunately were limited to those halcyon days when I dunked my brother's head in a toilet, dropped my trousers and mooned my cousins Bellatrix and Narcissa, and marked my territory on my mother's fine drapes - the latter of which has made me fairly certain there is some banshee blood in my family; _”toujours pur”_ my rosy, red and pimply arse.) I was even forced to give them some of those blissful memories from my time at Hogwarts. It pained me terribly to have to give them the memory of the time James and I went streaking through Kings Cross Station. I tried to console myself, of course. Though I might have lost the details of that delightful evening, at least our toned, buff physiques would forever be burned into the minds (and likely the retinas,) of the surprised and screaming witnesses, the muggle police, the local magistrate; and, of course, onto the film of those "surveillance camera" thingies the muggles had plastered around the station.

In hindsight, I really should've taken Muggle Studies. Or at the very least, listened to you when you tried to intervene in my excessive flailing over our awesome new prank with “Sirius, this is an epically bad idea.” I will admit now, that you were, sadly, correct in you observations, and it might’ve saved Jamesy and I from that horrible, yet enlightening night in the muggle jail - a memory I practically begged the dementors to take from me (and thank you, for bailing us out, by the way.) On the bright side, however, I never dropped the soap the entire time I was in Azkaban...

(And yes, my sweet, sweet Moony-britches, I digress. Stop giving me the stink-eye, mate...)

The precious memory of which I speak happened in the early Autumn, when the mornings were chilly and windy and colorful and exciting. I remember the warm sunlight on that cool morning as it shone through the cracked windows of the Shrieking Shack, glittering upon the dusty, wooden floor where you had passed out as soon as the full moon had disappeared. I had sent James and Peter back to the castle, since it would look a bit unusual to certain greasy-haired, sallow skinned and big nosed people if we were all four gone at one time. I mean, _they_ might think we were up to something, and I can’t even tell you how bad that would’ve been. Courageously, I stayed behind, fully aware that I would be facing certain doom though detention with McGonagall if I were late to Transfiguration again. This, however, was a sacrifice I was willing to make for you. Yes, you’re welcome...

I still recall you lying there curled up in a deep brown blanket, sniffling and drooling and totally tuckered out from our fun from the night before (and for what it’s worth, Moony, I am still quite sorry for all those times I tried to mount you. It’s a canine thing. You know?) You were just so cute lying there completely and utterly nude. You cannot know the utter joy I felt as I stared at your glorious, naked... everything, but especially, that wondrous and perfect _objet d'art_ you call your arse.

While the rest of you is scarred and pock-marked from all those wild, forest romps during your _"time of the month,"_ I must say that your backside is completely flawless. It is... _otherworldly_ in its radiance. Taut, pleasingly round and yet surprisingly squishy (not that I, you know, tested the squishiness while you were sleepy. Don’t be silly, Moony! And I’m only turning red because it’s a bit warm in here. Yes, yes, MOVING ALONG...) You, my friend, have the derriere of an Olympian god, and frankly, it should be worshiped as such. I BOW BEFORE YOUR BEAUTEOUS BOOTY, MOONY!

So, I sat there, gazing upon your rear and meditated on its miraculous nature while I nibbled on the breakfast the house elves had so kindly delivered. There was enough for two, of course - either Dumbledore expected you to wake up famished, or he knew I was there, drooling over your lovely _gluteus awesomeness._ I’d say the latter is most likely, given that the man seemed to know everything. After all, there was that time when he sent for me and he and I had a rather awkward “birds and the bees” chat - most of which I’m trying very hard to repress. That was when he gave me that oh-so-useful book,  The Mating Habits of British Werewolves, and yet, didn’t really explain _why_ he was giving it to me. Strange, strange, kinky man, that Dumbledore. Helpful, though. I must say that. But yes, I digress again...

I am telling you, Moony, it was the loveliest of mornings, sitting there munching on fried eggs and crispy bacon as I ogled your glorious arse. There have been few moments in my life when everything seemed perfect and right with the world and that, mate, was one of them.

Of course, that was also when I first noticed your trousers. Did you know you have always chosen the absolute worst trousers for your figure, Moony? You have. They are so terribly baggy they practically swallow you, and they do absolutely nothing for that heavenly posterior of yours. Even now, you’re still doing it, still finding a way to hide yourself. It’s just utterly... criminal, I swear.

I know, I know: why am I telling you this, Moony? It’s quite simple. This is the first time I’ve been out of my dreaded childhood home in months, and it may be the last time for another long stretch, since Snivellus wasn’t too fond of making that Polyjuice potion for me. I have no doubt in my mind that is how I ended up with a strand of Molly’s hair in my potion, rather than Bill’s, and am now left walking around the entire day looking like your eccentric mother. That said, wearing a dress is not the worst thing I’ve ever experienced - in fact, it feels quite freeing, and before you say anything, let me assure you that I am indeed wearing underwear.

In any case, I figure on such an auspicious occasion, you owe me for all of those times I’ve had to sit there and watch you parade around in those baggy, arse-swallowing trousers of yours. I mean, really: have you any idea the sheer strength it takes to mentally undress you, Moony my love? Therefore, if you do not try on these tight leather britches and model them for me, I will spontaneously combust from two full decades worth of unresolved sexual tension. I WILL GO BOOM. I MEAN IT.


End file.
